The Game They Call Life.
She always knew there was a distinct possibility that she may die young.
They all knew, and they were all prepared.
It was just part of the job.
Part of her life.
Nobody entered the game without the possibility of losing.
In fact, nobody entered Gotham without the possibility of losing the game they call life.
The whole city was a game, really.
A large board of brutal monopoly; governed by the criminal society with their get out of jail free cards.
Child's play.
Every step taken in that wretched, desecrated place that so many people called home was one step closer to the end of the line.
The line that was fragile and narrow and so short that it could snap at any moment. She could fall off the edge, or she could reach the end and have nowhere else to go but down.
Whichever way she went, she would end up a crippled mess on the city streets.
But as long as she died doing something she loved, something she was good at, as long as she could save at least one person, she would be content.
Happy, even.
Two-hundred and forty-nine days and 17 covert ops after her initial recruitment to the team was when her screen went blank and red, blaring letters flashed upon it in all their 8 bit glory.
'Game Over', was what it said.
The colour so lustful, like a hundred freshly painted red roses strung to the ceiling above her.
The speedster was the first to find her, lying in a steadily growing pool of her own blood at the edge of the old staircase.
Old, because it was now destroyed after an unfortunate backfire, the debris covering half her body.
He worked fast, his hands shifting the rubble in the gentlest way possible whilst his mouth prattled on about how it was going to be fine, that it wasn't that bad, that she would be fine.
She almost laughed.
The railing from the banister was lodged deep into her chest; she could feel the edge protruding out of the other side of her back.
She wouldn't survive this; her line had been cut, blown to a million pieces by her own foolish hand.
When he stood up, to run away and find the rest of the team, her hand reached out.
Fingers shaking, her grip weak, she clutched at his, her words barely a whisper that she knew he would hear: Stay.
His green eyes, swimming with the tears that he refused to shed, widened slightly before he knelt down beside her body, keeping her hand between his.
She rasped out a breath, tried to speak, to say thanks, I owe you, but she couldn't.
"Don't talk." He whipped out sternly, "You need to save your oxygen until the team get here. They shouldn't be too long."
She nodded weakly, never taking her eyes away from his.
"It'll be okay." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
She could have laughed; he was the worse liar she'd ever met.
It wouldn't be okay.
She knew that.
She was okay with that.
"The team will get here soon, and we'll put you in the Bioship, get you straight back to Batman. He'll fix you. You'll be fine."
A scrawny laugh escaped her, sending her into a racking coughing fit that ended in more red, more blood.
The blood around them continued to grow steadily.
"It'll be fine. You'll be fine. Don't worry." She wasn't worried, far from it, actually.
"Wa-Wally," She choked out, her eyes watering.
Dust, she told herself. It was just the dust.
"Yeah?" He bent his head down closer, so she wouldn't have to try to talk so loud.
"H-hurts." She got out, and Wally nodded.
"I know, I know, but it won't be for long, you'll be fine, don't wo-"
"No, sto-cough-stop, please." She rasped out. "It's too late,"
"It is NOT too late." She smiled weakly,
"Yeah, it is." She grimaced as she struggled to lift her arm up, her hand ghosting across Wally's cheek. "I-I wanted to say thanks. For letting me replace Speedy."
Wally seemed to choke on his own breath.
"You- you were never his replacement, Artemis. And I'm sorry I made you feel that way." Artemis' lips quirked up half-heartedly as her eyes slid steadily shut. "You're a great archer in your own right, besides, wasn't it you're arrow that saved me in the fight with Amazo?"
"Heh, yo-you finally admitted it, huh." Her voice sounded like the scratching of a needle upon record, stuck on agonizing repeat as it searched desperately for the grooves. "T-tell the team I'm –cough- s-sorry,"
"Tell them yourself!" Wally protested, drawing back from her slightly so he could stare down at her face in full.
Her head shook from side to side in slow, jagged movements, as if she was a clockwork doll barely functioning for the first time after years of being casually tossed away on some child's junk box.
"Don't think… I can, Wall-man."
"Stop." It almost sounded like he was begging, not that he'd ever admit it. "Please, stop talking as if you're about to die!"
"W-why don't you make me?" She'd meant it as a joke, as part of their usual bickering that happened both in and out of missions.
She'd never expected him to take it literally, so when plumped, puckered lips descended onto hers, her eyes flew open and her arms began to raise, to push him away, only for her to realise- for her to realise, that actually, if she was going to die, (and she was), then she was going to do it doing something she loved.
So she gasped softly, and whether from pain or elongated surprise, neither could tell.
They stayed like that for seconds, minutes, hours; whatever the measurement was, it felt like a life time to her.
She felt the warm, heavy droplets of his tears fall onto her cheeks and soak into the green cloth around her eyes, staining in dark splodges.
She had the common courtesy to not say a single word about it.
Or a single word at all, actually.
She blinked once; twice; thrice, before her mouth smiled again and the dim light lit up what was left of her life in her eyes.
And then she closed them, and her whole screen went blank, black, empty.
Thanks for reading! Aha, I'm not too sure about the ending to be quite honest, but I couldn't think of a better way to end it, so we'll all just have to live with it, eh ;D